


Straight Through Me

by Closemyeyesandleap13



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bit of Fluff, F/M, and guest appearance by Agent Coulson, bit of angst, cap 2 spoilers, the best of both worlds really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:16:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1422766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Closemyeyesandleap13/pseuds/Closemyeyesandleap13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint visits Natasha in the hospital after her first encounter with The Winter Soldier. </p>
<p>Spoilers for Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Nothing to do with the plot, just a comment Natasha makes about her history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Straight Through Me

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr Link: [[x]](http://wolveslnthenight.tumblr.com/post/81870307892)

_"Five years ago I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran. Somebody shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff, I pulled us out. But the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer so he shot him. Straight through me.”_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Odessa, Ukraine – 2009_

Clint burst through the double doors of the little hospital, frantic and wide-eyed.

"Where is she?"

The nurse behind the desk looked up, alarmed at his approach. She said something in Russian and he instantly wished he’d paid better attention when Natasha had tried to teach him the basics.

"Natasha Romanoff," he said slowly, hoping she could at least understand that. "Where is she? Which room?"

"Natalia Romanova?" the woman eyed him suspiciously. Clint nodded, and she held up a hand. "Podozhdi zdes."

Although he couldn’t understand the words, he guessed that she wanted him to stay where he was. She disappeared into one of the rooms, and Clint briefly considered making a run for it. That was probably the room he was looking for, and finally being able to see her with his own eyes would be worth whatever consequences. But Natasha wouldn’t want him to make an unnecessary scene, and it was that thought that kept his feet rooted in place.

After about half a minute, the nurse reappeared with Coulson in tow. As soon as the other agent saw Barton he visibly relaxed, letting his hand fall away from where it was hovering over his gun.

"Good, you’re here." He nodded at Clint, then said something to the nurse, who returned to her desk.

"Is she alright?" Clint asked, already hurrying towards him. "Coulson, please tell me she’s alright."

"She’s tough Barton, you know that," Phil said, taking a step back to let the other man enter the room.

Clint froze in the doorway, eyes immediately landing on Natasha’s unconscious form. Coulson had told him her car went off a cliff before she was shot, and it was obviously true based on the cuts and bruises scattered across the parts of her skin that were visible. There were a few wires and tubes hooked up to her, and she was practically swimming in a hospital gown that was two sizes too big. He wasn’t used to seeing her looking so small and frail. It was unsettling to say the least. He wanted to go to her, but he couldn’t seem to get his feet to move in that direction.

"Luckily, the bullet didn’t pierce any organs," Phil was saying. "So she’ll be alright. She was in quite a bit of pain though, even if she wouldn’t admit it, so they gave her some pretty strong painkillers. She wakes up here and there, but they told me the more she rests, the better. Fury wants to have her airlifted to a SHIELD facility as soon as she’s more stable."

"What happened?" Clint asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "She got the engineer out of Iran without any complications, and I made sure no one was tailing them before we split up. It should’ve been a clear shot to the safehouse. How did it go wrong?"

"She wasn’t making a lot of sense when I asked. Kept saying something about a guy with a metal arm." Phil shrugged. "She was pretty shaken up, I don’t think we’ll get the full story out of her until she’s a little more coherent. I stayed with her to make sure she would be covered if they came back for her."

"Thanks." Clint gave the other man a nod, finally tearing his eyes away from Natasha. "That means a lot, you know."

"I know." Neither of them were all that great with emotions, but they both understood how important the gesture was. Phil checked his watch. "Since you’re here now, I’m going to see if I can find somewhere to eat nearby. Call me if either of you need anything?"

"Yep."

Phil left and Clint let out a deep breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. She was going to be fine. She just needed to rest. He had to repeat that thought to himself several times before he could finally cross the room to take a seat in the chair next to her bed. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to touch her. Not with all of the stuff hooked up to her. With his luck, he would only end up yanking out something important or hurting her. Instead, he turned to the stack of magazines Phil had left behind.

_~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ _~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~__

When Natasha’s eyes fluttered open an hour later, the first thing she saw was Clint, fast asleep and hunched over in a chair, his face resting on the edge of her bed as if it were a pillow. The corner of her mouth twitched up in a small, half smile and she slowly lifted her hand to brush her fingers through his hair. One of his eyes squinted open to find her looking at him with an amused expression.

"You don’t look comfortable at all," she said hoarsely, her voice cracking a little.

"Look who’s talking." He groaned, slowly sitting up and cracking his neck to get the stiffness out. "I’m getting too old to be falling asleep in awkward positions."

Natasha started to laugh, but cut it off immediately when she felt the stitches on the left side of her waist pinch uncomfortably. She pressed her hand to the wound gently, hoping the pressure would balance out the sting.

Clint frowned, fingers hovering uncertainly over her arm. “Tasha, are you alright?”

"I’ve had worse," she said through gritted teeth.

He nodded and let his hand fall back to the bed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested splitting up.”

"Clint...Don’t. You couldn’t have known."

"I told you guys you would be safe." His eyes scanned sadly over her face, taking in every bruise and cut. "I told you there was no one following you."

"I didn’t even pick up on him until a second before he shot out my tires." A dark look crossed her features. "Whoever he was, he was good. Way too good. I don’t think it would have mattered how much back-up I had."

"I still should have been there."

Clint looked just as shaken up as she felt, so she reached for his hand, gripping it gently between her fingers and stroking the back of it with her thumb. “Barton, you should know by now I’m not that easy to kill.” She managed a half-smirk for him which he tried to return. “Give me  _some_  credit here.”

She looked considerably less fragile now that she was awake, which was comforting to Clint despite the bruises and scrapes and the gunshot wound that he knew was hidden under her blankets.

Something almost like sadness suddenly crossed her features. “Ghorbani didn’t make it, did he?” Her tone told him she already knew the answer.

"Well he’s not here, so I’m assuming…" Clint sighed. "I didn’t really think to ask. I had other concerns."

"Shame on you," she scolded teasingly. "He was our responsibility. Maybe my lack of human empathy really has corrupted you."

"Lack of empathy?" Clint raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Says the woman who just took a bullet for a guy she only met a week ago."

"Yeah, and look how well that worked out." Natasha frowned, looking down at their joined hands. "I tried to warn you that I wasn’t meant for saving lives, Barton. Looks like I was right after all."

"Nat you’re a person, not a bulletproof vest."

She looked back up at him, the sincere look on his face making her heart jump. She wished things were that simple for her too. But where she came from, trying meant absolutely nothing if you failed anyways. Clint’s type of sentiment would have been met with harsh punishment in the Red Room. Some things were just rooted too deeply in her mind to be broken that easily.

"Clint…"

At her skeptical look, he continued. “Look, you can pretend to be as heartless as you want, but the bottom line is that yesterday you almost died trying to save a complete stranger. That’s more than you could’ve said about yourself a year ago.”

The whole situation just didn’t sound right to her…didn’t sound like something Natasha Romanoff would do. She’d always been a survivor, not a hero. It was just who she was, despite Clint’s high hopes for her. But the last year she'd spent working with SHIELD and Clint had changed her, and for a moment she felt like she didn’t know who she was anymore, a feeling that wasn't exactly unfamiliar. Especially recently. But this time, it wasn’t entirely a bad thing. A little disorienting, but she could live with it.

Things were starting to get more emotional than she was prepared to deal with on top of having a hole in her stomach, so she gave that little half-smirk and started trying to direct the conversation elsewhere.

"Okay," she said softly. "If you say so. But don’t expect the big self-sacrificing hero play to be my new thing."

"Good lord Nat, it better not be," he grinned back, but there was something serious in his tone too. He was proud of her. He wanted her to do good. But he didn’t want to lose her. It was probably unrealistic in their line of work, but he didn’t want any more calls like the one from this morning if it could be helped. "Let’s maybe just…not make getting shot a habit, yeah?"

"I’ll try," she teased. Her eyes flickered over to the tray of untouched mush that passed for food in this hospital and she sighed. "But only on the condition that you sneak me some real food…"

**Author's Note:**

> Podozhdi zdes = Wait here


End file.
